Perfect Slave by Becky Bell

me a job.’
    â€˜A job?’
    Yes. After the excesses of Saturday night Hawksworth had cut her down from her bondage and taken her back into the room next door. He’d left her alone while she got dressed, then took her back into the sitting room. He told her to go into the office on Monday morning, hand over any important work and tell everyone, including her immediate boss, that she was being assigned to his personal staff for a trial period of one month. It was almost the truth, after all.
    â€˜He wants me to sort out all his computers.’
    â€˜God. And I thought it was going to be something a hell of a lot more romantic.’
    â€˜Don’t be silly, Pam.’
    â€˜So how long will you be gone?’
    â€˜A month.’
    â€˜He is very dishy. I suppose if you are going to be working with him personally you might get to know him a lot better.’ Pam stuck her tongue out and wriggled it about obscenely.
    â€˜I doubt it,’ Andrea lied. ‘Listen, I’d better go. I’ve got to go and see Gordon before I leave.’
    â€˜See you in a month then. And if you can’t be good be careful.’ Pam held up two fingers and mimed rolling a condom over them.
    â€˜You’re incorrigible.’
    â€˜Ask him if he wants another assistant. I could show him a good time.’
    But would you be prepared to be bound and whipped by him, Andrea thought. Pam’s sex life, as far as she knew, was extensive but conventional.
    â€˜See you then,’ she said.
    Andrea walked out of the office. After ten minutes with Gordon Plait, her boss, she walked out of the building too.
    She supposed she should have asked Charles Hawksworth if she could think everything over before she made up her mind, but what would have been the point? What happened on Saturday had changed her life. It was an opportunity and she intended to grab it with both hands.
    Â 
    He arranged for the car to pick her up at four-thirty. His instructions had been very specific. She was to wear a plain dress with no underwear or tights, and a pair of flat-heeled shoes. She was not to wear any make-up or jewellery, or her watch. The only possession she would bring with her was the keys to her flat. Someone would be assigned to look after it while she was away.
    So, standing at her bedroom window, acutely aware of the fact she was wearing neither panties nor a bra, she had watched the black Mercedes with its opaque black windows pull up at the curb at twenty minutes past the hour. At four-thirty precisely the blond chauffeur got out and rang the doorbell.
    Andrea took a last look around, double locked her flat door and ran down the stairs.
    The chauffeur was waiting by the car. He opened the rear passenger door for her but did not smile or say a word as she climbed in.
    â€˜Good afternoon.’
    The voice startled Andrea. Sitting in the back of the car with her long legs crossed, was Laurie Angelis. She was wearing a wrap-over white silk blouse, a knee-length black leather skirt, shiny gunmetal grey nylons, and calf-length boots with a stiletto heel. Her long jet-black hair was pinned into a tight chignon, revealing the sinews of her neck. Andrea noticed her fingernails were painted with a deep-blue varnish.
    Andrea sat on the seat next to her, and the chauffeur closed the door and got behind the wheel.
    â€˜I thought...’
    â€˜Don’t think from now on,’ Laurie interrupted sternly, as the car pulled away. The glass divider between the passengers and the driver was open. Laurie pressed a button and it glided up with a whirr of electric motors. ‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Now we have our privacy. Mr Hawksworth likes me to prepare all his little...’ she appeared to be searching for the right word, ‘chicks, personally. So there are no misunderstandings. Give me your keys.’
    Andrea hadn’t factored Laurie into the equation. But she suddenly remembered what Hawksworth had